


Atmospheric Conditions

by Kastaka



Category: House on the Strand - Daphne du Maurier
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-19
Updated: 2010-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-13 18:55:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/140568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kastaka/pseuds/Kastaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dick Young returns to a rather more recent episode of the past, and eventually salvages something for the present.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Atmospheric Conditions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sandpipersummer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandpipersummer/gifts).



The door to the room swung open, and the familiar cadence of Vita's footsteps approached the bed.

"Darling," she began. Since the illness had set in, she had settled quite competently into her role as carer and minder of the guest-house that she had successfully turned the place into, but it seemed her newfound control over the family's destiny had not given her the happiness she sought, and the bitterness was beginning to creep into her features. "I have a most unexpected visitor for you, downstairs. You would have thought he would have phoned ahead, but I suppose it is just like his sort to show up at any hour of day or night."

"Well, don't keep me in suspense," I asked, smiling as her face swam into view. Partially it was a gesture of appeasement, but mostly I was genuinely glad to see her face. Despite the hardening around the edges, it made a nice change from the monotony of the ceiling.

"It's John," she said. "John Willis, you know, Magnus' little assistant?"

"Yes, yes, I remember him," I reassured her. "You know, my mind isn't gone just because I have a bit of trouble moving."

"Oh, I'm sorry, dear," apologised Vita. "I do forget how dreadfully slow time must be up here for you, when I'm more liable to forget things what with all the bustling about and looking after the guests. Anyway, he's down in the drawing room and I thought it would be polite to ask your permission before springing him on you, as it were."

"Send him up, don't keep him waiting," I requested. "It's few enough visitors I get from that end of my life, I would rather not waste the poor gentleman's time on sitting around and pleasantries."

"I shall fetch him right up and get out of your way, then," replied Vita, with only a trace of acrimony. "I'm sure you will have a fine old time catching up on your reminicances, almost like Magnus himself was restored to us."

And without a further word she swept from the room, taking her out of the reach of any reparative words I might have uttered.

I would like to say that my mind had conjured up all manner of possibilities for John's visit by the time he tentatively entered the room, but the truth of it is that confinement to one's bed rather dulls the wits, and I was content simply to lay there and let events take their course in good time.

"Ah, there you are," said John nervously, as he paced slightly unevenly over to my bedside. Un-used to peering over the bed as Vita did, he remained an invisible presence at my shoulder, although naturally I had got used to hearing the position of things quite well in the course of my bedridden state.

"I could hardly be anywhere else, now, could I?" I attempted, trying to lighten the rather guilty and sombre mood which appeared to be upon the room.

"Yes, yes, I suppose so," replied John, awkward and unsure. "Um. I suppose I should enquire after your health, and that of your family..."

"The family are doing marvellously," I answered. "And as for myself, well, I'm sure you can see. We make the best of it. I'm very lucky that my dear lady wife has stood by me and not had me shipped off to some ghastly impersonal facility up in London, and at least there is plenty of variety staying permanently in a guest house, as it were!" I could hear his feet shuffling gently on the carpet as he stood ill at ease, and fancied that he had some kind of internal conflict which in his subtle movements he was endeavouring to resolve. "But there's no need to stand on ceremony with me, dear boy. I'm sure you haven't ventured all the way from London simply to wish me well."

"Um. No. Of course." The slight movement of cloth on cloth told me that he was wringing his hands, or something of the nature. "I had come, uh, to offer you. A proposition. A _scientific_ proposition."

The corners of my mouth rose unbidden, even though I was attempting to keep a serious look for the sake of the young man's nerves. "Do spit it out, then," I encouraged him. "I'm sure I've heard worse from our mutual, sadly deceased, acquaintance."

"Very similar, in fact," admitted John. "You see, I have been reconstructing his notes, and..." he trailed off, and I fancied that his face held that kind of helpless expression where the interlocutor wishes you to finish their thought so that they do not have to utter the dread words themselves. As if not saying it will absolve them from the blame that might otherwise attach.

"You want me to take another trip." It hung in the air between us, as solid and invisible as his presence at my bedside. "You think you've reconstituted the formula, and..."

"Not quite," he said, quietly. "I, uh, still have some stocks, you see. Of the original formula. And some account of the dosing regimes that might be appropriate."

"But you haven't come all this way to send me back into the same patch of history," I surmised, picking up on the intonation of 'appropriate'. "You have some other trip in mind."

"Yes," replied John, with some relief. "You see, I think we are quite close to an important discovery. Not as close as we might have been were Magnus still with us. But, you see, that is the thing." He paused, but I was not going to help him this time; I waited for his continuation. "Magnus _is_ still with us. Or could be. In the past."

The pieces began to fall into place. No humble sojourn into a simpler age was on offer here... or, in a way, was it? One's own past did hold a certain fascination. But a piece of the puzzle was still distinctly missing.

"How does one aim at a certain target, like that?" I asked. "Especially as, well, I had assumed that so far it was just that Roger was some common ancestor of Magnus and I, with all this talk of unlocking ancestral memories..."

It was my turn to trail off. In reflection, this presumption of mine seemed hopelessly naive. Why would both of us select that particular morsel of history, if we had all of the lives of the past which intersected our physical location to choose from?

"I am afraid," shuffled John nervously, "that Magnus may have misled you slightly as to the, ah, composition of the substance at hand. While it is true that it did work to conjure ancient memories, there was, um, an additional ingredient ensuring that, you see, _particular_ memories arose."

An awful suspicion was beginning to dawn, but I was having none of this evasion. "Go on," I urged.

"Well, ah, you see, what you had there is, in fact, certainly a greatly hallucinogenic substance, but also mixed with, uh, the essential matter of the target." There followed a profoundly awkward silence. "Um, extracted from some bones found beneath a certain cliffside..."

So there was the magic. "And now you propose to do the same with some sample of Magnus that you have prepared earlier?" I surmised.

"Yes," concluded John, with an outrush of breath that I do not think he had realised that he had been holding. "Or rather, uh, I propose that _you_ do the same."

"Because you haven't exhibited any side effects yet, or perhaps ever taking the stuff yourself, and thereby can avoid afflicting any other subject with them?"

"You have the measure of it," he allowed. "If there was any other way..."

"Of course," I replied, cutting off his apologies. "Obviously from the point of view of minimising harm to any further subjects, I must be an ideal case, already suffering as I do from what appears to be the full extent of such results. But there are certain practical concerns. One attempts, you understand, to follow the subject of the vision, and must remove oneself from the way of people lest the vision should end in an untimely fashion. I am not sure how I could achieve such a thing, in my current condition."

"I know that you cannot operate a conventional wheelchair," admitted John, "but I have designed a conveyance which should suit, and was hoping that - well, it seems that neither of you recorded much about any vocalisation you might have made during the process, except for that one incident right at the end, but it does not seem that a running commentary or even directions were _forbidden_ , as such, and perhaps you could learn to provide them. Then I could serve as navigator in your expedition, and notes could be taken right away which may otherwise prove difficult to recall without the appropriate scientific training..."

He seemed rather embarrassed at the extent to which he had thought all this through prior to his visit, but I appreciated it. The extent of the work which would go to waste otherwise made my decision much the easier. Although it seemed that he already knew it was inevitable, by the completeness of his preparations.

"You know my answer," I said. "But you must understand that naturally I am deeply endebted to, and also still rather enamoured of, my wife and my fine children, none of which I believe are capable of understanding a willingness to further experiment which might lead to the loss of even my voice, or worse. I assume you also have some provision in place for their satisfaction?"

"Well," began John. "I had thought to tell Vita that I had come across some small chance, some revelation in the notes and my own studies, that gave me some hope of perhaps restoring your function to a limited extent. And that I would of course love to co-operate with the medical establishment on such things, but I fear that they would prohibit my endeavours not simply on the grounds of risk that they would bring up, but due to my different training and general lack of insider credentials in their field. And of course that the method depended on some substances that Magnus had left in my care, and that any delay would reduce the already dwindling hope of some improvement. Obviously I do not know your lady wife as well as you might, but I hope that may suffice?"

I relaxed slightly. There was a feeling of letting go, of having now already taken this way out of this strange half-life that I had been trapped in - of having made the selfish choice, and being no longer responsible for how it unfolded, however untrue that was.

"That should do the trick," I allowed, "if anything will."

"Then I shall get right to it," replied John. He paused a moment as if unsure how to take his leave from one as incapacitated as I. With no further response forthcoming, he quietly vacated the room, presumably to speak to Vita and set the wheels in motion.

Myself, I was in the past again already. The bright and comforting recollections of the distant life I had briefly touched blended seamlessly with almost as vivid recollections of the rather closer life of Magnus, and I wondered what revelations might present themselves.

One thing rather haunted me, though... "What makes you think that I have denied them?" What kind of revelations about Magnus' personal life would lie in the memories John had stolen from his body?

\----

Naturally I was forced to have a series of rather uncomfortable conversations with Vita about my forthcoming move to the laboratory in London, although to be fair it seemed that she was rather looking forwards to getting rid of me for a while, and rightly so; an invalid is always a burden on those around them, however cheerfully borne. The boys were a rather more heartbreaking prospect to be parted with. Although the eldest was beginning to show a little of that adolescent indifference to parental affection, or at least to overt displays thereof, both of them were anxious to know that I would be home soon and none the worse for wear. I would have thought it was rather a chore to them also to often be forced to come and entertain their bed-ridden step-father, but it seemed that my stories and my general presence in their lives was rather more valued than I had previously believed.

It was not enough to cause my resolve to waver, however. Besides the obvious seductions of having plenty to occupy me rather than the scraps of entertainment my family could spare, and the pull of the great vividity of experience the drug could provide, there was also some part of me that was glad to contribute to Science, and another which rather began to believe John's cover story, so convincingly did he spread it. Maybe with a little more study, especially with the access to Magnus' wisdom from beyond the grave, there really could be some way to restore my health and vigour. Or at least produce enough of a supply that I would not mind my broken state.

Finally the day came, full of tearful goodbyes and decanting me into John's motor vehicle, especially prepared with restraints that held my head up and generally kept me in an appropriately seated position. Just drinking in the view out of the window as we drove through the hauntingly familiar countryside, then out through the wide variety of the English south-west, was a delight to my starved senses after the long period of confinement. The drug-memories could scarcely seem as vivid as the ever-changing moors and banks and hedgerows glimpsed through that blessed windscreen as we made our way into London, and the towns and finally the city streets that we passed through were such a profusion of colour and life that I could scarcely take it all in.

A laboratory technician was waiting for us as we pulled into the car park. I was unpacked with customary detatchment and efficiency, and wheeled on a hospital trolley into a rickety elevator. I hadn't seen Magnus' lab in London before, and ached to be able to turn my head and take in the surroundings, but alas such was beyond me now. Parked in a room with a wide variety of interesting stains on the ceiling, it was not long before John returned from some mysterious errand, the technician working on something with glasswear in the background as we waited.

"There will be an orderly to get you settled in later," he explained, "but I suppose you would like to get underway?" It was a very diplomatic way of telling me that he wanted to start as soon as possible.

"Certainly, certainly," I replied, for I was rather keen, to tell the truth. I was not certain how the conveying of my limp form around the area was meant to work, but the sooner I found out, the better, I figured.

"You must excuse a little more manhandling," he apologised, and the technician approached again at some inaudible signal. This time I was transferred to quite a handsome wheelchair, with surprisingly comfortable head restraints keeping my gaze forwards. John stepped into my field of view, fussed a little with some of the attachments, and then took a vial from the table. He handled it reverentially, like the Host in some obscure scientific Communion.

"This is the laboratory where Magnus did the original synthesis," John explained. "Obviously there are a lot of possible intersections here, but I'm hoping it will pick the earliest and we can work from there. It should give us some time to get used to working together before the important parts occur." He swirled the contents of the vial around nervously.

"Let's have it, then," I said, eager to begin. The novelty of the new surroundings was a treat, but the yearning for the vividity of experience that the drug provided had not quite faded, despite the pull of the story I had been following having receded with its end.

"Now, it's very important for you to narrate aloud all that you see," said John, seemingly reluctant to begin. "Obviously you will need to give me directions if you need to go somewhere, or to dodge people in your vicinity, but also we haven't the time to give you a full grounding in the area - I wasn't entirely spinning tales about the substance degrading with age."

"I understand," I said insistantly, attempting to meet his distracted gaze.

"Well," he concluded, "here goes nothing."

He tipped the vial into my waiting mouth, a graceful, oddly intimate action. I swallowed, and felt a certain sense of despair as no immediate effects overtook me. Maybe the batch was ruined already? Maybe my tolerance had become too great for such a small measure?

"Is it working yet?" asked John anxiously. "I'm not sure if you will be able to hear me, but do remember to vocalise all your thoughts..."

 _Thoughts._ I began to open my mouth to speak, but found myself instead performing an unusual manoever - catching myself from a fall! It seemed the chair had been banished into the dreary present, along with John, his assistant, much of the glasswear and my crippling paralysis.

Instead, I found myself in a much cleaned and spruced-up version of the laboratory in which I had been sitting, a couple of experiments carefully laid out and neatly labelled for perusal. And indeed here there was a party to peruse them. I dodged back against the wall, only a fleeting wonder for how my body was taking this back in the 'real world' - brief, imagined memory of dear Magnus, dragging himself quite unconscious from train track to abandoned guard hut, notwithstanding - and drank in the scene around me, although alas I was denied the sensation of touch that I so longed to feel returning with my returned mobility.

The exquisite panelling, some kind of dark-stained oak, competed with the smooth lines of the flasks and the stark twisting metal of the clamps securing the experimental samples, with their shining white crystals and strange blue liquids and billowing clumps of cotton wool. I forced myself to pay attention, away from the spectacle and sudden wash of visual clarity which made everything a marvel in its own right, towards the people inhabiting the room.

It took me a moment for the recognition to sink in, for of course I had not seen his parents so young, or the man himself merely a boy. But it was undoubtedly Commander and Mrs Lane, beaming proudly as they ushered their offspring forwards towards the experiments. Magnus, of course, required no such encouragement and was eagerly devouring them with his eyes, being careful not to touch but nearly pressing his nose to the glass in excitement. He hadn't changed a bit, I decided, as I watched him gaze at the exhibits with rapt attention, the stuffy old professor who was demonstrating these marvels of science and his own parents standing anxiously behind him all but forgotten in the moment of discovery.

When Magnus reached a finger out towards one of the tubes, experimentally, the professor did clear his throat. The Commander and Mrs Lane exchanged nervous glances, but Magnus was also showing signs of the effortless charm with which he would flawlessly navigate academic circles in his future, and smiled ingratiatingly at the old man.

"I was wondering if you could tell me," he said, "if the colouration of the wool will remain on the surface, or whether it has percolated through the material?"

The poor professor looked quite taken aback by this question. It was clear that he had no answer for the young man, as the experiment had not been about that and it certainly wasn't in his briefing, his own area of expertise being something immeasurably far removed and more specialised than some complicated question of fluid mechanics.

"Well, that would depend on entirely irrelevant atmospheric conditions," he blustered, "which obviously we attempt to control for, hence the glass environment, but cannot entirely eliminate."

"So if it were a vacuum?" asked the young Magnus. "No, hmm, that would change the whole structure. I suppose this is why I have never really held with idealised models, you see. Much better to get the answers you are looking for by asking the right questions, wouldn't you agree?"

It looked much like Magnus had got the answers _he_ was looking for, in any case. The professor made some kind of noncommital noise and made a mute appeal to the boy's parents, which was met by polite blankness from the mother, and barely concealed mirth around a deep and abiding pride from the father. Realising he would win no allies here, he suggested timidly, "Perhaps you would like to make a visit to the zoology department? I do find those of a more _practical_ bent rather appreciate their exhibits."

Honour having been satisfied by all parties, the Lanes proceeded in the direction of the other door, causing me to press myself against the wall further. Belatedly I remembered my narration duties, and blurted out, with foolish caution that these all-too-real people in the past here with me might hear - "I'm with young Magnus, I appear to be standing up, I'm going to the next room now, this door," and I pointed. The gesture gave me a distinct mix of confusion, nostalgia and joy in its return which is hard to describe to those who have never lost one of their vital faculties.

I proceeded, of course, to walk straight into a wall, the door in question having been borded up several decades previously.

The fall was more embarrassing than painful, as the suppression of touch in the drug-induced journey had faded straight into the suppression of all feeling which had been my natural state these past months. More awkward was that I could not rise from prone, and the lab assistant and John had to manhandle me back into my supposed conveyance. John's eyes were alive with the need to interrogate me, but he carefully refrained until I was well-seated and properly inspected for injury, of which none was forthcoming save to my pride.

"You said something about standing," he said, "but it was much distant, I'm afraid, and also we were rather alarmed with your staggering about, not in the best position to hear it. Obviously we will have to be carrying the recorder, not just rely on it being attached to the poor wheeled contrivance that I suppose will at least be useful for your waking moments."

"Well, you were somewhat right about a cure, it seems," I joked, attempting to lighten the rather earnest mood, and also to show I was taking it all in good part after the mute embarrassment of my fall and recovery. "Unfortunately I did not get very much of use to you. It appears this room was used a long time before as some kind of demonstration room, perhaps on an open day of the institution, and all I was blessed with the vision of was young Magnus being his usual self and dismissing the idea of patronising this establishment for his education."

John's face lit up at the mention of Magnus. "Don't you see, it is valuable after all - it proves that the theory was correct! And all the intermediate stages of preparation which one might have made an error in. Now we know so many more things - that it works with another distance in history, a different sample of the remains, those that definitely have no relation in ancestry... and another data point for when the effect will choose as its starting point!"

I could not quite share his excitement, because I was beginning to have misgivings about the whole affair. To stand, to walk once again, these things were marvels... but if I got too used to it, how would I cope when the supply inevitably had to end? How would I be able to return to that drab room in the manor of Kilmarth, attended only on sufference and on occasion, when I knew of the existance of something which could return me to the world of the upright and mobile, even in a distinctly inconvenient fashion?

And what would I learn of my dear friend Magnus which I did not want to know? It had been rather a bizarre experience, spying on the childhood of a friend I once knew well. Voyeuristic and immoral enough to have watched the lives of those many centuries dead, whose acquaintence I had not made before and whose legacy I could barely find, let alone use my new knowledge to mar. There were some things a man should be able to keep secret, and I feared I would discover such things in short order if we continued on this line of investigation.

Yet what choice did I have? I was helpless in the hands of my friend's young assistant, and behind the mild manners and quiet voice I could see a stirring of those fires that burnt in Magnus' eyes when he was on the trail of something big. Nothing was going to stop John Willis on his mission, least of all such meaningless trifles as my consent, and attempting to withold it could only make my life a misery.

"Yes, yes," I said, hoping to cover my melancholy.

"Oh, I'm sorry," apologised John at once. "Of course you must be exhausted after all that travelling, and that burst of unaccustomed exertion there as well! Please, don't let me become carried away in all this - your welfare has to come first, of course, and I confess I may be prone to overexcitement and forgetfulness when things of this magnitude are at stake. Hammond, do take John to his dinner and his rest."

And that was all; I was wheeled away from the laboratory and off to inspect my accomodation, and see about my personal needs, and thence to bed.

\----

The second time I took the concotion in John's laboratory - after a pleasant breakfast, if rather awkward with new staff, and some gentle conversation that was obviously probing to see if I was up for another trip yet - the distance travelled was much lesser.

This was the Magnus I knew, or rather the Magnus I had somewhat fallen out of touch with. The room's tables were quite bare, and Magnus himself was rifling through one of the cupboards, with a different young assistant to the one whose hopefully capable oversight I was now under. The assistant stood awkwardly at the door, watching Magnus with a wary eye, and also glancing nervously from time to time down the corridor.

Eventually, the tension got the better of him. "Professor Lane," he hissed. "This isn't your office yet..."

"Of course, of course," replied Magnus distractedly, waving the young man's concerns away with a dismissive hand gesture. "It will be soon enough, though... ah, there it is! I thought so - he's only gone and broken the fractionating column, and then of course hidden it at the back of the cupboard so that no-one will notice." Triumphantly, he stood up and closed the cupboard door. "There we go - we'll be needing a new one of those when we move in next week."

"Can we go now, sir?" asked the young man, worriedly.

"Yes, let's," replied Magnus, sweeping past his assistant and leading the way down the corridor. I picked up the pace to follow him, only feeling slightly unnatural and unsteady on my feet. "Did you get the minutes of the Third Supplementary Working Group on Neurochemistry?"

"It should be in your in-tray," replied the assistant nervously.

"Oh, jolly good, I never remember to check that thing, you know. Still, a bit of light reading until the committee results come back. Shouldn't think I'll be needing you for the rest of the day," announced Magnus as they proceeded through the university. The narrow corridors might have been treacherous, if Magnus had not provided quite such an effective slipstream; people tended to shrink quaveringly against the wall at his approach, even though most of them must technically outrank him at this stage in his appointment.

"Thank you, sir," replied the assistant as they reached a door bearing Magnus' name. "You're quite sure?"

"Absolutely, my dear boy," replied Magnus, opening the door. I slipped around the young man and made to enter the office, but suddenly I was dragged out of my contemplations by a most unwelcome descent into vertigo and confusion.

The world swum around me as I lost all control of my limbs, which nevertheless were registering some dim sensation of overwork somewhere in the few functioning outposts of my nervous system. I was not exactly inclined to movement even if I had been capable; I remembered the nausea that the terrible spinning sensation would bring if by some miracle I did manage to lift myself up, and therefore I was content to hang perfectly limp in the arms of my rescuers.

Even opening my eyes seemed like too much of an imposition. I could dimly hear John - "Sorry old chap, had to wake you up, couldn't go breaking into the Dean's correspondence-room! Perhaps we'll be able to arrange more access for the next run, eh? So what did you see this time?" - but I was disinclined to risk opening my mouth to answer.

My unresponsive state seemed to be causing some consternation in the outside world, and there was much rushing to and fro and bundling onto a hospital bed. Fortunately, by the time the footsteps of a concerned medic were advancing on me, I had regained enough willpower to croak out, "I'm fine." A much relieved Willis quickly intervened and retracted all his vague premonitions of possible doom, reassuring the confused doctor that of course I was just exhausted, and removing me back to my rather pleasant ordinary quarters for a bit of a lie down.

\----

There were several further uneventful trips, primarily cut short by some real-world intervention. In the busy world of the university, it was much more common for my route to be blocked by some unmovable meeting or the domain of someone significantly higher in the academic hierarchy than poor John, who simply did not have Magnus' talent for navigating the rocky shoals of academic life. He had already used up his primary stock of favours to secure access to Magnus' old laboratory for the duration of the experiment, and had little left to explain his poor sleepwalking patient's habit of attempting entry into all manner of now-forbidden places. More than once my vision was disrupted by someone ignoring John's desperate protestations and 'accidentally' brushing past me in the corridor, although the shock at my abrupt transition from trance-bound zombie to cut-stringed puppet soon spread around the incestuous and gossip-laden academic environment.

Magnus fired his young assistant after the great man was buttonholed over coffee about some experiment he had not yet publicised, by a gentleman who believed he was working in a related field but who Magnus would often contend was barely 'working' at all. He had obviously met John in some kind of between-visions interlude, as the efficient and quiet young man was already in place by the time I next caught up with them.

I had barely obtained my bearings in the now-familiar laboratory when Magnus stormed through the door in something of a rage, still done up in his outside clothes. Snatching the scarf, hat and coat from his head, he practically threw them at the following John Willis, who appeared scarcely different from his current state. With admirable composure, the latter did not flinch from the barrage but instead caught each item and neatly arranged them upon a coatstand while Magnus stared at a desk strewn with a windfall of papers as if it had personally insulted him.

"Unethical, indeed!" he bellowed, sweeping a pile of paperwork off the desk and sending it fluttering and drifting to the floor. I looked sharply to catch a glimpse of what he had so derided. Sometimes I could read text, sometimes I could not; this variation endlessly frustrated John, who I believe had imagined me sitting at Magnus' desk rifling through those notes he had later consigned to the fire or at least acquiring an abstract for every paper since returned to the library. It was not exactly legible, today, but I was fairly certain nevertheless that it was the several papers on the influence of teonanactl on rhesus monkeys which he had taken such an objection to.

"As you say," murmurred John soothingly. It seemed that the content of the words mattered much less than the tone in which they were delivered, but despite the intended calming action this only seemed to inflame Magnus further, or at least cause him to realise there was an audience for his rantings, as he transfixed John with his wild staring.

"I can't believe it!" he continued at great volume. "With some of the things those old coots get up to with actual human beings, John! That a little stumbling and a trance-like state could be worse than cutting the thing's brain while it still lives! Politics, my dear boy, that's all it is. Someone out there is jealous of my success, mark my words!"

John just stood there with an expression of mild politeness, a stance which was meant to convey that of course he agreed, and feel free to shout as much as you want, sir.

"Anyway," continued Magnus, losing some of the violence and momentum. "Nothing that can be done, I suppose, nothing that can be done. I shall simply have to continue on the one subject they cannot possibly object to."

Proceeding to the other bench, the slightest flicker of worry showing in John's eyes as he did so, Magnus unhooked a small flask from the vast array of glassware. "Where do you think, dear boy? Right here, in the laboratory?"

"If the monkeys were prone to wander, sir," John advised cautiously, "best to make it somewhere outside, perhaps? Unless you feel you would be a danger to the public, the local parks are rather sparse this time of year..."

"Excellent," replied Magnus, heading out of the door without coat, hat, or scarf, which John hastily grabbed. Hustling after the pair of them down the corridor and out into the crisp-looking December air, I admired the wonder of snow adorning the trees of the avenue, the swirling dance of the flakes causing Magnus to idly don his coat without a second thought to where it had come from.

Although of course he must have thought of where it had come from, on some level, I supposed - or surely I would not see it in the vision? But no, there had been details in the other past which Roger had not been present for. On the other hand - there had been nothing verifiable in those fragments...

I was interrupted in my musings by Magnus halting abruptly, having come to a wide stretch of parkland. Hoping that the park was still extant today - I dreaded to think how it had been steering me through the streets of London - I paused with him, and watched him hold the flask aloft, squinting at the contents. "The cold air can't be good for it," he mused aloud, "but here goes nothing, anyway."

"Sir!" exclaimed John, having just about caught up. "Please, before you..."

Magnus lowered the flask and looked irritably at his assitant. "What, dear boy? Spit it out, we haven't got all day - well, I suppose we have, but science waits for no-one..."

"Please at least put your coat on, sir? It is very cold and wandering around irrational _and_ in your shirt sleeves can hardly improve matters."

Magnus' fury evaporated, to be replaced by a delighted smile. "Young man, I do believe we are going to get along quite well," he allowed, as he held out one arm, then transferred the flask and held out the other, allowing John to arrange his coat, like some kind of valet.

"Very good, sir," replied John, with only a minute trace of irony at the distinct inappropriateness of it all.

"Anyhow, some people have a saying about third times, but I always think it's the second time that's really the charm," announced Magnus, and downed the flask's contents in one.

The effect on the scene from my viewpoint was dramatic, although not in quite the way I had expected. The snowflakes, the pathway, the blades of grass - all of them vanished at once from my view, even though I could dimly hear Magnus saying, "Hmm, it's not exactly a fast-acting substance. Oh, here we go..."

Instead, there was nothing. No sight, no sound, no feeling...

...as soon as it had begun it was over, with Magnus keeling over beside some trees. He swayed, almost righted himself, and then John swooped in for the rescue, but the older scientist casually batted him aside with such force that the young man fell over, rather startled. I fairly leapt across the intervening space to keep up with the scene, and found myself falling too. I had gone just that bit too far in the ordinary world and was about to pounce on a urinating dog, next to a presumably somewhat older emplacement of forestry.

John seemed not in the least worried that I was now spying on his past as well as that of our mutual friend, and indeed was happy to 'get onto the good stuff'. He was rather disappointed that I hadn't got to witness Magnus' first experiment in a second-hand kind of manner, though.

That was obviously that for the day, but John insisted I recount everything from that visit in minute detail, especially the placement of paperowrk and suchlike, in preparation for what he described as 'the real work' which he believed was just about to start.

\----

It was with a mounting sense of dread that I followed Magnus and John through the now-familiar corridors.

The session had started quite ordinarily. The pair of them were in the laboratory, finishing up some work. My head still swam with the figures and scientific terminology that I struggled manfully to retain, despite it all being so far removed from my field that they might as well have been speaking in a foreign tongue. I wished I could bring myself to vocalise as the information came in, but it always produced such a terrible wave of self-consciousness when I attempted it, and the results were indifferent in any case; I could mumble in the real world, but I could not really fully make myself understood, even with considerable practice.

When it came that time late into the evening when Magnus traditionally declared that one could not perform science with a sleep-muddled head, they began to pack up as usual. Then Magnus favoured John with this strange look, all kind of curious but somewhat bracing himself for something.

"I don't suppose you could carry a little light reading to my room, dear boy?" he asked, putting together a selection of papers. I was so deep in my memorisation that I had scarcely picked up the exchange, as much as I would dwell on it later. I concentrated on the titles of the papers he was collecting, but they swam and danced before my eyes, as if Magnus himself hadn't really cared about which they were. That in itself was odd, although at the time I put it down to the scientist's sleep-deprived state.

The young John didn't even bother to respond verbally, merely holding out his arms to accept the bundle of paperwork. Magnus stepped rather closer to him than was entirely necessary, almost as if he was sizing him up, examining his reaction to the proximity as he might examine some experimental substance. John stood his ground, seemingly unperturbed, and Magnus appeared to be satisfied in what he saw. It was at about this point I had begun to pay attention to the social aspects of the situation. Something was definitely amiss.

The university's holdings were vast and sprawling, and Magnus could nearly reach his lodgings without leaving the succession of row-houses, underpasses and covered walkways dedicated to its purposes. Eventually they had to brave the outdoors, and John swept the papers under his coat to preserve them from the swirling chaos of a blizzard which had descended on the area. Even Magnus slowed his pace slightly as they battled across the icy pavements, casting a hopeful look around for a waiting taxi, but no vehicles were braving the packed snow lying treacherously over the hidden road.

Ploughing onwards towards the fortunately rather central building in which Magnus had his rooms, I could not help be repeatedly distracted by the snowfall. Being in a blizzard without the sensation of touch was strange enough, and the extraordinary visual acuity bestowed by the drug revealed each snowflake catching the glimmer of the plentiful street lighting for the crystalline wonder it had always been. And if I kept looking at the snow, then I didn't have to think about the implications of how the pair of them were reaching out to steady each other rather more than necessary, or what the present-day John would make of my report.

I knew we had access to the accomodation building, as there had been several adventures out in this direction previously, so I expected no reprieve as Magnus numb-handedly fumbled with his keys and unlocked the warmth of the entrance hall. Stumbling within, John carefully brushed the worst of the snow off his coat before surruptitiously checking the documents he was bearing for crumple-marks or dampness. Then he paused, bringing them obviously to hand and looking at Magnus with a questioning air. There was little of the calculation I would have expected from the present John Willis, just a passive, open curiosity.

"Bring those right up, will you?" asked Magnus, in the process of doffing his coat and various cold-weather accoutrements onto a nearby coatstand. His eyes met John's with a distinctly intense look which I could not help but recognise.

Part of me, the sensible part which had survived a close encounter with a freight train and avoided motor accidents on several roads, told me to get out now. Walk forwards, casually brush against one of them, plunge back into the outside world full of misery and disorientation.

I followed the pair of them up to the room. What else could I do?

\----

John could tell that I was being evasive about the trip, when I carefully regurgitated the scientific details and glossed right over the reason for the long stay in the accomodation house. Obviously he knew perfectly well what had happened that day, what I had seen, and I felt no need to relate it back to him. Maybe, I thought, if I didn't mention it we could both go on pretending that I hadn't seen it... that I hadn't seen _them_.

The work proceeded. As time wore on, I needed larger doses of the drug to go under, until at last I found myself reliving certain phone calls from the other end, and to my great relief John reassured me when I woke up in the train station that that was quite enough. As I couldn't re-see the contents of the past visions in any case, he saw little need to have me relive my friend's death, the circumstances of which everyone was already quite familiar with.

It seemed odd that it was over. I was incapacitated with the ever-growing strain of being kicked bodily out of the dream for some time, as it had been growing worse with every rescue, and so it was several days until I was coherant enough to speak. John passed through and asked questions of my medical attendant several times, and eventually he caught me at a more lucid moment.

"You're doing better?" he asked, solicitiously.

"Rather," I croaked, "although for all the freedom it gave me, I'm distinctly glad it's over."

"The medical chaps say you'll be ready to travel in a few days," he reassured me. "I've only just begun to put together all the correlations, of course, but I can't possibly thank you enough for all your efforts. I'd never have caught the thread of the work again without your observations. And... there's a little something I've been working on."

"Oh?" I asked, feigning interest, keeping down the horror that I was going to be asked for something else.

"Oh, no, no, this is something purely to benefit you," he backpedelled, picking up on my distress even through my weak attempts to hide it. "Of course, I understand entirely if you are heartily sick of experiments by now, and wish only to return to your wife and children. But I think you'll find it worthwhile."

"What is it?" I asked, wishing I could struggle upright or give some other sign of now being entirely alert and paying attention.

"A slight modification," he replied, "to some of the drug's precursors... I had the idea because of your startling mobility while under the effects. I've been working on it through the times you have been too under the weather to continue, a kind of side project, if you will. Obviously I can't say if it will work, but I have treated some of the poor unfortunate simian specimens from Magnus' earlier work and they have shown a startling improvement in function."

"Go on, then," I conceded. The idea of dwindling my life away in the manor at Kilmarth, attended dutifully by Vita - who could have all the parties she wanted now, but still it seemed her irrational attachment to me would only strain and never break, and her sadness at my condition was rather affecting - and less and less by the boys, as they grew into their own lives... wouldn't it be better if I took some chance for a brighter future, even if it might mean I never returned at all?

Almost tenderly, with something more than the efficiency brought with long practice, John brought a vial of clear liquid to my lips and had me swallow. At once there was a bone-deep weariness that settled across me, and I suffered a terrible moment of doubt - was this it, was this the end of me? - until I realised that what I was feeling was the return of sensation. Throughout my whole body, which I had got used to not attending to, a cacophany of troubles, aches, and strains clamoured to make themselves known.

I closed my eyes and let out a little sigh of pure enjoyment at re-gaining my faculties, regardless of the unpromising messages that the refreshed systems were bringing to my attention. As I did so, I curled my fingers slightly, a natural and almost imperceptable movement.

The wash of freedom was exquisite, and I could see from the proud smile on John's face that he had caught the movement too.

"I've taken the liberty of making up half a year's supply," he said, somewhere distant from the scarcely remembered sensations I was revelling in. "I'll be in touch with that doctor chap of yours, Powell, to see about getting it produced more locally; I'm sure he'll be upset that it is outside the usual medical establishment, but few doctors can resist seeing their patients make a recovery." He eyed my experimental shiftings with some amusement. "Don't overdo it for now - you've had enough of that lately anyway."

Dear God, had I had enough of _everything_ lately. But it seemed that brighter future was lying there ahead.

**Author's Note:**

> With wonderful beta'ing from the lovely hsifeng from #yuletide!


End file.
